


Adequate Expectations

by Alexis_Katsuki, Victors_tears



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Confusion, Depression, F/M, M/M, Omegaverse, Pining, Self Loathing, Sexual Confusion, Slow Burn, Well add tags as we continue, a/b/o dynamics, eventual smut im so sorry, im sorry mom, self discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9942596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Katsuki/pseuds/Alexis_Katsuki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victors_tears/pseuds/Victors_tears
Summary: A man in pain has nothing to gain.Co-written by @body-made-of-flowers-and-stars on tumblr. Give her some love for me, she's great.





	1. Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title refers to Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations", because our friend Pip inspired us to do this hell ride of a fic. Thanks Pip. Also thanks to our discord, of which the queen can be found @nikiforoov on tumblr. You have her to thank for birthing the companionship between the co author Alexis and I. This is fic is going places I'm telling you.  
> Enjoy~

The cool air of the arena nipped at Yakov Feltsman’s nose as he guided his own pupil, living legend Viktor Nikiforov, towards the ice to yet another Grand Prix Final Free Skate. As a coach, he usually couldn't help but well up with pride each time his students chased a world class title, even more so when his students consistently won each title. However, as he watched his prized student skate out to the center of the rink now, he no longer felt that same adrenaline he felt before or anticipated the results of his tutelage. The results were clear; they always were. Viktor Nikiforov was going to win yet another gold medal to the surprise of absolutely no one.

Every skater at the Grand Prix Final always had an unreal air to them, the air of world class athletes that trained and toned their bodies to inhuman levels. Every skater that could make it this far was near perfect in technique. It bored Yakov to borderline insanity, and his apathy to the individual skaters’ programs were prime examples of it. For the last couple of seasons, he had grown so bored of watching robotic excuses for artists jump around on the ice that he'd neglected to finish watching them at all. It reminded him of his days as a figure skater. The feelings he thought he would never experience again had found their way back to him. He once had thought that he would never tire from winning with his flawless performances that always followed with the looks of adoration from the crowds. They made him feel on top of the world, an adrenaline rush every time he stepped out onto the ice, the constant feelings of chasing a thrill. Then, after years of having next to no sort of competition, the gold became expected, not earned. His passion began to falter, because what was the point in competing if he always ended up with a final total of thirty points ahead of second place? The admiration from the crowd began to falter too, and it crushed him because even fans of other skaters knew Yakov would win. Not only the fans, but even the skaters themselves too. The fun of competing and earning the awards was lost and these feelings absolutely crushed him.

After his realization of this and other deeper feelings having manifested and appeared, he left the ice for good. He just couldn’t shake them away anymore. That was the one thing that no one expected Yakov to do, retire when he was still a mere 23 years old. The figure skating king of Russia had left the world for good with no goodbye, but even without one, everyone knew why. Even after coming out of his quiet retirement to coach the best of the best skaters, which even included the new Russian Figure Skating king, his passion still had not returned. The day he realized that there was no thrill to be gained or fun to be had, that’s when he knew the ice had not only stolen his love, but all his passion too and had no intentions of ever returning it to him.

Not today though, he was tired of continuing this feeling of numbness to skating. He wanted these feelings to end and to do that it was time to change. So, today, he watched every performance, even the last skater through to the end of his program. His performance was rough and so carelessly sloppy, but yet so focused and bold, the most raw of emotions that Yakov had ever believed to be expressed. This skater, the one who went last, had blown right through Yakov. A chill ran up his spine. Who was he? Why did he feel so mesmerized by this boy? It's not like he was more exceptional than the thousands of other and better skaters he's seen in competition, in fact, he was fairly mediocre. Something about him enraptured Yakov though, enough to leave the memory of his performance lingering, in more places than he cared to admit, far after he returned home to his wife Lilia.

Life at home was a whole different type of agony for Yakov, one that he may have never even noticed or wanted to, until now. Since he was 18 years old, Yakov had known he was an Alpha, or, at least that's what he had been told. All this time he has been searching for how he could possibly live up to his Alpha name; there was seemingly nothing 'Alpha’ about Yakov Feltsman, other than the persona he put on while he was skating and for coaching purposes. When he was a skater he thrived on his second-gender to help perform. During his years as a skater who had discovered his alpha gender, Yakov thrived on his knowledge and understanding of what it was to be an alpha-male. He would skate out to the center of the ice, puff out his chest, put on a blinding smile for the crowd, and they were his. This especially helped after his body had fully developed into the the alpha-male type with toned muscles and broad shoulders, so his sex appeal was always strong for his audience. Regardless of who the crowd had come to see they couldn’t help but not stare at the appealing alpha skating in front of him. How regardless of gender, they wanted nothing more than to see more of him; whether that meant more skin or more routines was up to the individual themselves.

The first performance he did when he was a fully developed alpha had been a problem though. The second he stepped on that ice the scent of thousands of pheromones had swirled around him, that were purposely directed at him, did he realize then that he was the most desired alpha but with no idea on how to be other than the books he had read, the information the doctors had told him, and the observations he had made of other alphas around him. He had panicked and rushed his routine so he could get out of there, to be away from the lust induced air that was suffocating him. After that incident he wore a scent blocker that was just a thin strip of paper that was stuck above the upper lip that blocked out all scents. Even though he was able to fix that problem he wasn’t able to stop the headlines that circulated about the incident. How the newly developed alpha couldn’t handle being an alpha--the most un-alpha thing someone who was one could do. Yakov never addressed the speculation in hopes that they would just fade away but to his distaste they never did. At least once a week he would see a new headline that discussed how even though he was a lusted after alpha, he had no idea how to function as one. That regardless of the persona he had figured out for the ice and the audience, that’s all it was, a persona. Yakov hated it but it wasn’t because they were wrong, it was because they were right.

He’s been living with his wife ‘happily’ for 49 years, and still not once has he ever been able to even experience the most simple and expected mating behavior of an alpha--- a knot. Each time it annoyed Lilia to no end, but Yakov just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t knot his own wife. He lived in shame, even in his own home. A shame that manifested deep inside him year after year. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t be the alpha that was once considered sex appeal on ice. He still couldn't ‘become one’ with his second-gender. His life kept turning sour with every minute of his existence. After coming home to his wife that day, he finally felt the gap in his life that had been forming in his home for years. He felt whatever the difference was between what he felt looking at that final skater and what he feels now looking at his wife. He wasn't quite sure how to organize his feelings now, but as he has been doing unusually frequently today, he began to sift through his life and his relationship with Lilia.

He knows he loves Lilia, he spent the past 49 years with her, but something was off, and he wanted to look back on what he had and the happiness she once gave him. She was a gifted ballerina who won heart after heart, especially in her earlier days. When he was just around 20, he had been awestruck by her grace and success, just as many were by his own skating. Back then, during his prime days as a blooming Alpha and worldwide sex symbol, victory was all that caught his attention once he became slightly adjusted to the embarrassing headlines. As he won gold after gold, so did she, and they were both swept away by each other's perfections. Even if he did only change his focus just to impress her; he would never admit that to her or himself. Their marriage was only expected by the media of course, the two best friends and living legends of two similar art forms joining in matrimony was the only next step to be expected by dancers and skaters alike. He was happy. But today, he realized he wasn’t anymore. He came home that night and felt the same loss of excitement he felt at 23, only strangely _backwards._ He looked inside himself and found that his lack of excitement and general resentment of his own abilities were not just here now, but had always took precedence in his life. He acted coldly and unimpressed towards everything and everyone, never smiled, couldn't even please his wife in bed. He only hoped the latter issue had only been because she was a beta, as opposed to, say, an Omega whose heats would excite any Alpha to no end, just like they had threatened to do to a young Yakov panicking in the middle of the rink all those years ago. He hoped that his lack of competence was somehow _her_ fault, but he knew the truth somewhere in him. He knew that he just wasn't satisfied, somehow. This has been going on for much longer than Yakov initially thought, and the pressure of having his past 49 years crash down upon him this way was a devastating blow to his confidence. He is _69 years old_ now, and he just learned that he isn't living.

He follows his usual routine anyway. He lies in bed with his wife hoping that he can just pretend to feel like any normal alpha male with their life figured out would, even if the feeling would only hold him over until morning when it would all come crashing down on him. He stares at the ceiling and as he is being pulled under from exhaustion, a final thought drifts through his head:

“ _Yuuri Katsuki… was that his name?”_


	2. False Accusations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has some realizations after his loss at the Grand Prix Final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, co-author Alexis wasn't feeling this. So, i decided to take matters into my own hands.

Yuuri tossed and turned that night after the Grand Prix Final, confused, muffled thoughts rattling his mind.

 

Since he was a young boy huddled in front of the television screen with Yuuko, he’s admired and adored the legendary Russian figure skater  _ Viktor Nikiforov,  _ who had won the Grand Prix Final yet again with a glimmering gold to not an inch of Yuuri’s surprise. Yuuri can't recall a single time Viktor  _ didn’t _ win gold, and as much as it teased his self-esteem to think of how much more accomplished Viktor was at a much younger age than Yuuri is  _ now _ , he couldn't help but continuously adore him, even if he was just the slightest bit jealous. 

 

He's mulled over every single one of Viktor's programs over the years, committing most of them, if not all, to memory. His room is riddled with posters of Viktor in quite possibly every single angle, he owns an official Viktor Nikiforov  _ body pillow,  _ his desktop background on his computer is a screenshot of his Wikipedia page…  he's a little obsessed.

 

By far his favorite program by Viktor is  _ Stammi Vicino _ , a beautiful italian aria that sings of the anguish of love and loss, the battle between Life and Love. Yuuri seemed to always connect easily with this particular program; despite Yuuri’s abundance of supportive family members and friends and an  _ adorable  _ dog (who happens to be named Viktor… coincidence?), Yuuri often feels alone, just as he was dead last in the GPF this year, lost and alone in the desolate bottom of the scoreboard; he  _ usually _ felt this way. Despite the familiarity of it all, he couldn’t help but sob quietly in the bathroom, wishing that one day, he’d be more. He’d be  _ somebody _ . Not just a dime-a-dozen japanese figure skater that cried in public bathrooms. “Pathetic”, he’d often call himself. 

 

But there was something about his idol that gave him, perhaps, a sense of hope for the future. Each program Yuuri committed to memory from Viktor seemed to bring him a step closer to feeling somehow  _ less alone _ , if that was even possible. It was a conversation, or at least that’s what Yuuri felt of it as, and for once in his life, he didn’t really want to let go, despite every other part of him telling him to do so.  _ He wasn't alone in being alone _ , that much was true. 

 

Yuuri went to sleep with a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a side to Yuuri that often left him with a sour taste in his mouth and a huge distrust in the world around him. 

 

The world he lived in was overly absorbed with gender. Not the typical gender most people openly express, no, but the secondary gender that made Yuuri shutter at every mention of it. He hated this label; he hated his instincts; he hated the instincts of those that bothered to care about said secondary gender. He hoped he could atleast get away with telling the world he was an average beta to draw the attention away from his gender and onto his attempts at skating, but due to these  _ stupid _ instincts and involuntary characteristic of this gender, he can’t fully stop the pheromones and scents that ooze from him. He is an omega, and he hates it almost as much as he hates himself. The catcalls and whistles he gets from men and women alike, the predatory stares, the uneasy feeling he gets when alone with intimidating alphas--- it makes him afraid to be alive. The pills can only do so much to suppress his involuntary heats; there’s no telling what an alpha can do to him if he’s alone. He just wished he could get away from it all. 

 

Viktor guides him through this in his own way. They may have never spoken, or interacted in any way, but when Yuuri sees viktor’s choreography, Yuuri somehow doesn't notice the alphas staring at him, or the fear he faces at every other moment of his life: he feels like it’s just him and Viktor, alone, expressing loneliness with  _ eachother _ , a beautiful irony on its own. 

 

Only, this is of course only false hope. 

 

He would never meet the choreographer of the dances his heart sings. In this way, Yuuri was constantly reminded of his place in life.

 

A stupid, slutty Omega. Necessary only for impregnation and pride.

 

He learned this with his first partner, actually, back when Yuuri was just discovering his body and how it was developing at a much faster rate than he can even fathom. Vlad. His name was Vlad. The memory of him lingers in Yuuri’s head even now. He had met him in his ballet class, the overwhelming alpha scent drawing his newly pubescent, naive self in. He was infatuated immediately, believing this new feeling, “love”, as media led him to believe it was called, gave him a new breath of life. Of course, this only led to the harsh reality of the cruelties of life.

 

He was an omega, nothing more. Not even to his beloved Vlad.

 

After that night with Vlad, Yuuri knew even less about love than he did before.

He didn’t even want to learn about it anymore.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s fascination led him to constantly seeking out new information.  _ What truly inspired Viktor Nikiforov  _ to create the programs that set Yuuri’s stone cold heart on fire? He explored the deep parts of the internet, every interview, every tumblr blog dedicated to Viktor Nikiforov discussion, every social media post; he was determined to find the very thing that set Viktor apart from every other top figure skater Yuuri’s ever seen. After a while of seemingly vague answers to this question that pulled at Yuuri’s poor brain, he figured that maybe Viktor was only special because he’s done nothing but win. Maybe there was no message to his skating other than:  _ it was just good skating _ . The thought tugged at the tearducts of his eyes.  _ All this time he really was alone. Why would anyone ever feel as alone as Yuuri did, and display that to the world like that? Yuuri’s just being unrealistic once again. There was no meaning to the choreography after all.  _

 

He let out an exasperated sigh and meandered back to Viktor’s wikipedia page, scanning over the basic information he, of course, already knew. Name, birthday, birthplace… coach.

 

_ Coach.  _ He never really took the time to think about Viktor’s coach. How could you even coach someone like Viktor? A living legend--- he thought about this logic for a moment. 

_ Seriously, how do you coach someone as successful as Viktor? Why would he even need a coach? _

 

The curiosity ate at him, and so, the research of  _ Yakov Feltsman  _ began.

 

* * *

 

“Holy shit”, Yuuri murmured curses of utter shock at his findings. 

“Living Legend Yakov Feltsman”, old news articles, interviews, buried bits of treasure that reveal possibly an even  _ more _ impressive background than Viktor Nikiforov. 

“Former Living Legend  _ Yakov Feltsman _ to Begin Coaching and Choreography After Retiring from a Highly Successful Career”

 

_ Choreography. Yakov choreographed Viktor’s programs. _

After numerous searches, Yuuri found this speculation as fact. An interview of Yakov briefly mentioning his part in Viktor’s programs. 

“Viktor is a brilliant skater; however he seems to lack on the creative aspects of the craft--- Does not seem to be able to create as well as he emotes. He does really give my choreography a brilliant breath of life.”

 

A light flush began to creep onto Yuuri’s cheeks.

 

He turned to his posters of Viktor scattered upon his wall, now with an entirely new perspective. Calmly, he took each poster down, one by one, examined them closely, and ripped them up. Yuuri felt a surge of emotions. First, his choreography still had a chance to mean something more, such as a similar feeling of loneliness, and second, everything he’s known about Viktor had been turned upside down. Viktor was simply a pawn--- a pretty face the public sees instead of the true man behind the beauty. The 70 year old man may no longer express his soul on the ice, but he does it through Viktor. 

 

If Yuuri felt connected to the choreography before, he felt it deep in his core now. Not only was this Aria a cry for love, but it was done  through methods that would lead to  _ discrediting the owner of the cry _ . Yuuri often felt this way himself. With Vlad. He was hurt, bruised, bleeding in his heart, but the world saw him as not treating Vlad the way he deserved to be treated as an alpha. Yuuri knew this feeling all too well. Yakov cries for love, but the cries are credited to Viktor, probably the least deserving of an answer to that call. He was a popular alpha playboy, knotting chicks and dicks left and right. Of course Stammi Vicino wasn’t truly  _ his _ . 

 

It all made shockingly clear sense to Yuuri now. 

 

His mother called him down for dinner, despite every other attempt leading to a depressed “I'm not hungry” as of late.

But now, Yuuri finally felt compelled to actually join her in a moment of happiness. He’s missed this feeling so much.

 

He ate katsudon with her and Mari. He’s won gold. Maybe not at the GPF, but at his new discovery. 

  
He knew  _ exactly _ who to look for at Worlds. 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

Yakov trudged into bed once again with his "dear" wife Lilia. 

 

She was clearly in the mood. He internally screamed.

 

Nothing about her was attractive to him anymore. He was dead inside. His knotting ability completely gone at this point, but he is a _married_   _male alpha._ At this point, this is his duty. 

 

It happens.

 

After a good while of mechanically banging his wife, he does it.

 

Images of Katsuki Yuuri's inspiring skating flood his head. He closes his eyes. He murmurs,

 

"Yuuri!"

 

He knots his wife at the thought of Yuuri. He didn't even know he could anymore. Not at his age.

 

"Shit"

A curse escapes his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to hitherelovely for inspiring me to keep this fic alive! Shes got this AWESOME angsty fic going on right now called "Black Ice". Go read it; it's great. Totally different tone than this silly crack fic. The name of Yuuri's first lover is a little cameo of a similar character in hitherelovely's fic. Just for youuuu~~~
> 
> Anyway, i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this. I can't wait to see where our two troubled souls take us next~~~
> 
>  
> 
> (Take that Alexis, you can't kill Yakuuri, not in MY swamp!)


	3. A Series of Unfortunate Outcomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't enjoy a nice surprise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst human being so here is a new chapter !!! Also, formatting? Yikes.

Yuuri doesn’t remember much from what happened after his performance at the GPF. He remembers being cold and numb for awhile with images of himself skating through his head, mixes of regret and disappointment being most prominent. His feelings are making him seem so heavy, like a weight is tied around his chest. He can barely breathe. He is in an unending blackness that is surrounding him. A distant voice is ringing out but it’s nothing but a faint echo. He can’t tell if he closed his eyes or not. The echo is getting louder and louder. He wants to call out for help but his lungs are suppressed. He feels himself pick up speed in this void. He wants to hit the ground, he wants it to end. Yuuri takes one last, long breathe and...

      

He’s at a rink and he’s skating. It’s his rink back in Hasetsu. The faint sound of Stammi Vicino is playing in the background as he continues skating in an endless loop, stuck in an ice rink with no one but Viktor Nikiforov watching him, critiquing him with cyan blue eyes and his ever adored heart-shaped smile replaced with a straight line. Viktor stood behind the rink’s guard while Yuuri was stuck on the ice. His heart was thundering in his chest and his legs ached but Viktor wouldn’t let him stop. Viktor keeps telling him to redo his jumps and spins but Yuuri couldn’t get his body to leave this formation. He was stuck doing this endless figure-eight, while Viktor’s voice kept getting louder and angrier. Yuuri wants to leave and hide from him, to escape the scrutinizing gaze and harsh words; but there was no way out of the rink, there was no exit off the ice, just endless guards.

      

He was stuck in this endless loop until he collapsed on the ice and before everything went black again, Yuuri caught a fading glance at Viktor with a stern face, yelling at him to get up. He turned his head so it was facing away from Viktor, his voice fading out just like his vision and before the darkness could consume him, he saw Viktor’s coach, Yakov Feltsman, watching eerily from the shadows of the rink. His heart stuttered in his chest and then everything was black once again. 

Yuuri was back in the endless void but this time a soft light was glowing and that echoing voice was calling out.

 “Please…. help me..” Yuuri croaked out. The weight on his chest was back and the stomach dropping feeling of falling was back full-force. He wanted to reach that faint glow that was illuminating below him.      “Please… please…” He can feel the wetness on his face and the sobs forcing themselves out of his chest and it’s excruciating. It keeps getting harder to breathe again. He begins to wonder if this is what dying is. If he is actually dying because if this is what happens before the actual death well he wants it to be over with, he wants to be dead. This realization brings forth a faster falling rate, he hears himself yell out against the rushing of the air and flashes of different outcomes show beside him. This goes on for what seems like an eternity. He sees himself winning the GPF, he sees himself ripping up posters of Viktor Nikforov, he sees himself gazing at a phone lock screen that was Viktor Nikiforov’s wikipedia page, he sees himself being content with giving up his idol that is his soul reason of skating, he sees himself doing extensive research on Viktor’s coach, and he lastly he sees the man who he thought he had more with than a simple friendship, Vlad, whispering sweet nothings into his ears and telling Yuuri that he was his sweet omega and belonged to no one but him. This flashing outcome brings bile to his mouth but he swallows it back down. He knows Vlad wasn’t able to hurt him like he later found out he wanted, the accident that took Vlad’s life saved Yuuri’s. Yuuri had found out Vlad’s plan right before the accident so when he found out the news he couldn’t help but feel a sense of safety and relief. One less harmful alpha male to try and use someone else to their advantage. Yuuri knows he shouldn’t have these selfish thoughts but he can’t help it. He never said them out loud, not even to his best friend, Phichit. No one ever found out why Yuuri never mentioned Vlad’s death, why he didn’t attend the funeral, why when they asked him where he was, how he would simply excuse himself from the conversation. Yuuri never disclosed why he stopped caring for Vlad. Vlad had never knew Yuuri had figured out what his plan was to do to him, what he was going to put him through.

Honestly, Yuuri wishes this would end. He doesn’t want to see any of these could have beens anymore so he shuts his eyes and continues to fall. He closes his eyes to the light below him and continues to cry. He hears that voice again but this time it’s clear and it’s his name. With his eyes shut he calls out again, “Please… make it stop…. Help me…” The voice gets louder and louder becoming deafening and behind his eyelids he can feel the light trying to burn through him. Yuuri is falling and falling, the air rushing past him quicker than before and before he can call out another plea, everything stops.

      

The lights hit him all at once and there is a ringing in his ears. A gentle sigh catches his ear and his eyes frantically search for the source. It’s Phichit and you can see the tear stains on his face but he is also wearing a look of relief. Before Yuuri can even get a word out to him he is grabbing at his hand and saying, “ Yuuri… I didn’t think you were going to wake up again. Do you even remember what happened? After the GPF you told me you were going to go clear your head and find a local rink and then after a few hours I got worried because you know how I worry about you. Well you weren’t picking up your cell so I went looking for you, and….” Phichit trailed off, tears spilling down his cheeks once more. He took a deep breathe before starting again, “... you were by a rink but it looked like you had tripped or something and slammed your head down onto the concrete of the sidewalk pretty badly, there was so much blood… I rushed over to you and checked your pulse while calling an ambulance… it was so weak I thought you were gone… the head injury you sustained, well…Yuuri you’ve been in a coma the last few months. They didn’t think you were going to ever wake up and if you did, they want you out of the figure skating season until at least next year if not later than that. I’m so sorry. But on a brighter note Worlds just ended and Viktor took the gold again!”

Yuuri didn’t say anything in response, just turned his head away from his once tear-stained friend and stared at the flower arrangement that had been placed on his bedside table. He doesn’t remember much of what happened during his coma and he has no desire to try and remember either, all he knows is that the last month was the most suffering he had gone through and he didn’t even physically experience it. Maybe his losing of the GPF and his accident were signs that he should leave the figure skating world once and for all.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  


Yakov didn’t have the heart to touch his wife after the knotting incident. Luckily, she hadn’t heard him gasp out Yuuri’s name during the incident. Even if she hadn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to even look her in the eyes for longer than a minute. He constantly watcher her and knew she was walking around in a bliss of ignorance to what had happened. Maybe ignorance was bliss in a situation like this considering ever since that night, Yakov couldn’t stop thinking about Katsuki Yuuri and he didn’t want his wife of many years to see that was once love between them was nothing at all anymore.

His thoughts would constantly fall back to the boy with the flubbed jumps but the beautiful step sequences. For an old man, he was finally excited about attending Worlds again, he finally had something to look forward to. In the deepest parts of his mind, he didn’t want Viktor to win, no, he wanted to Katsuki Yuuri take the podium and shine. Katsuki Yuuri was bringing out a side of him that he had never known or experienced before, this deep inner feeling he had never experienced before, not even for Lilia. Was this the alpha feelings he thought he never had? Would they only get stronger and more prominent? The new feelings shocked and excited him all the same and he could not wait to see the Katsuki boy perform because the endless possibilities were setting off new feelings within him he never wanted to stop feeling.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  


When Worlds rolled around that’s where Yakov’s heart dropped for the first time since his retirement all those years ago. Not seeing Katsuki Yuuri was the worst feeling he had in a long time. Watching Viktor take gold again brought a bitter taste to his mouth, he wanted to see Katsuki Yuuri take the gold, wanted to see his step sequences again, wanted to see the look of concentration he would hold on his face but the look of love he held for the sport as well. He wanted to see all of him again. When he saw Celestino walked past him, something took over in him and he rushed over to his side to snatch his attention. When Celestino had told him about his student’s accident a sunken feeling took over in him. He gave a gruff apology and quickly excused himself.

During closing ceremonies, Yakov left. He figured Viktor would know what to do by now, winning wasn’t new to him, and the rest of them would follow Viktor’s lead anyway.He arrived at his hotel as quickly as his once gold-medaling legs would take him. After a few phones call were made he finally got the place he was looking for and in his broken but best English he said into the reciever, “Yes, I would like the flower arrangement to be delivered to the room of Katsuki Yuuri… let it be from the Russian figure skating team… thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was okay and you all enjoyed my first solo chapter! I have finals coming up within the next few weeks but after that the chapters should be up much quicker! I do enjoy all the comments we receive it's really sweet to see!


	4. You Can't Trust 'em.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coma leaves Yuuri more than confused, but he finds an answer in it somewhere.

There was a lot that Yuuri could handle, but unfortunately, he’s only human. 

 

He can handle surviving a nasty accident leaving him in a coma for, how long was it? A month? A few months?

 

But, when he looks at the flower arrangement at his bedside from the Russian team, he’s more confused than anything. 

 

Who? 

 

_ The Russian team? _

 

There are some things that are meant to be kept secret, but Yuuri is a man of temptation, willpower, and he’s determined to find out who  _ The Russian Team _ is. Especially since in his head, there are too many conflicting ideas as to what’s false and what’s reality, what’s a fever-dream induced by a sudden coma after the GPF and what’s real. What’s really, truly, in front of him now. 

 

The fact that the flower arrangement is from the Russian team in particular sendings chilling thoughts down his spine. 

 

He honestly couldn’t remember a damn thing about his feelings towards them.

 

Viktor was ingrained in him from his childhood as the idol he loves, adores, wants to compete with someday, but this pulls more questions into Yuuri’s aching head.

 

_ He can’t even remember if the sight of himself competing against Viktor was part of his coma or not. He can’t remember if his ripped up his posters. He can’t remember… _

 

He remembers. He remembers the gaze of Yakov. He’s not sure if it’s real. He’s not sure if it was in his coma. He remembers. More than rational thought would lead him, he feels. The looks Viktor has ever given him, be it in a coma or not, were not from someone who would send condolences on behalf of a whole team. Viktor was a gold medalist; a selfish, winning gold medalist. An alpha. 

 

There was something about this flower arrangement that felt home. He narrows down the options. 

 

He hears a knock on the door.

 

Before having the time to respond, to speak up to the echo of the rapping on his door, he sees the door slowly creak open, the light from the hospital hallway spilling in.

 

Viktor peeks in from the doorway.

 

“May i come in?” He whispers shyly. 

 

Yuuri doesn’t respond, but Viktor comes in anyway. What a jerk. 

 

Viktor continues speaking.

 

“Hey, Yuuri, right? I heard you were finally waking up. I just, you know, as basically a representative of the Russian Team, i thought i’d check in on you. How are you feeling?”

 

“Ah, good, i guess. I had some crazy dreams is all.” Yuuri was livid. He didnt know why he was angry, but he was. Something was off. 

 

He continued anyway, “Um, pardon, what do you mean by representative of the russian team? Do you mean, by chance, the one who sent this flower arrangement?”

 

“Ah, no actually. I didn’t send that myself. I figured i’d just come because--”

 

“Because you think people feel better hearing condolences from gold medalists?” Yuuri was positively pissed now.

 

“Well, i mean---”

 

Yuuri interrupted again, “You think that just because you won yet again that seeing you here would make me feel better? It’s your duty to represent the Russian Team because you think you’re better than everyone else? I’m sorry, Mr. Nikiforov, i appreciate the gesture, but not your entitlement. Who sent the flowers? Was it, by any chance, Yakov Feltsman? Your coach? If anyone represents the whole of the russian team, it’s him, the top coach in your country. I don’t see you coaching anyone, Mr. “I win a lot so now i represent the whole russian team”.

 

“Yuuri, i came because i wanted to be nice. There is literally no reason to punish me for it.”

 

“Punish you? This is all a game to you Viktor. I’m nothing to you and you know that.”

 

The doctor seemed to notice all the commotion, and politely lead Viktor out of the room.

 

_ Yakov Feltsman. He’d be so disappointed in his top skater. I bet he doesn’t even know how cocky Viktor is.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Yakov doesn’t know what to do. He’s lost. He’s stuck. There’s a desperate need in him for something, some _ one _ , even if they’re severely out of reach. 

 

He has Lilia and the ring on his finger, a knot on his belt, even, but it means nothing. He misses the adventure he feels when he watches Yuuri. He misses him, and he doesn’t even  _ know _ him. 

 

He had to make a decision. He had to end his relationship with Lilia. If he wasnt even honest to her, how could he ever be honest with himself? It just wasn’t fair. 

 

He opened the door to his apartment, heaving out a long sigh as he gathered his strength to sit down and talk to Lilia. What would he say?

 

_ Lilia, you had meant so much to me over the years, but im afraid… _

_ No,  _

_ Listen, Lilia, i think its time we… _

 

_ No, no, no too cliche… _

 

His thoughts were, however, abruptly pulled to a halt when he opened the door to their bedroom, only to find…

 

He was speechless. Horrified. Angry. 

 

There she was, in their own bed, shouting Celestino’s name as she reached her climax.

 

This cant be real. 

 

Yakov didnt say anything. He yanked off his ring, throwing it in whatever direction his disbelief led him to, and left, hoping she wouldn’t follow.

 

He didn’t know where to go. 

 

Or, maybe he did.

 

* * *

 

 

The hospital room was eerily quiet. 

 

Yuuri had no idea where his anger came from. It was like all his coma experiences were merging themselves with reality. The anger he felt towards the images of Viktor swimming in his head were contortion, foggy, all logical sequences of events abruptly interrupted by be question of whether or not they were rational, or if they even happened at all. 

 

He has too many questions to answer, too many questions to even address. He needed some kind of sign. Something to tell him where he was, what he was going to do, and what he had already done. 

 

Perhaps he was still in the coma? What if he was already dead? What if he’s… a vampire or something? 

 

He was beginning to get so confused that for a minute he actually considered he was a vampire. But no. Just a stupid, delusional omega. 

 

He forgot the line between coma-Yuuri and Yuuri-Yuuri, but did not forget Vlad telling him this long ago. 

 

Perhaps his anger towards Viktor is that he’s an alpha like Vlad. Perhaps Yuuri’s second gender is doing him some good by warning him of alphas and keeping them away. 

 

In a world like this,  _ you just cant trust an alpha.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay in case yall havent noticed im doing a chapter-by-chapter switching with Alexis and each chapter is supposed to be a complete surprise to eachother. I went in one direction with chapter 2, then Alexis hits me with that coma. I was shook, but somehow, i was able to write a short chapter to continue it. I wonder how she'll take this lmao. 
> 
> Also thanks so much for your comments!!! I appreciate every single one, and i love all of yall!
> 
> Poor Yakov.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, Alexis and I aren't done yet. We have many ideas slapped down that will make this fic a blooming novel. I present to you:
> 
> A yakuuri omegaverse fic.
> 
> There has been much crying in the club during the process of creating this. I hope you learn to enjoy the ONLY acceptable ship in YOI history.
> 
>  
> 
> [CHECK OUT THIS FANART BY GOOD OLE' BUDDY PAL LINISY](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/330053209378914305/332952319886884865/unknown.png)


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